


Darth Fingon's Birthday 2007

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 2nd Age - Pre-Rings, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2007-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles on the theme of Elrond and Gil-galad</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dubious Comfort - Minuial Nuwing

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

  _~Mithlond 32 II~_

Elrond stared unseeing at the distant horizon.   
  
In one sense or another, the sea had taken them all.   
  
Eärendil, Elwing, Elros. Father, mother, brother. In his mind, Elrond saw still the gleam of unshed tears in the eyes of the new King of Men, saw the warring of sorrow and anticipation on his beloved brother's face as Elros embraced him for the last time, then turned and boarded the ship that would take him to his destiny. A destiny that would see them sundered until the world failed and time was remade.  
  
A consoling hand came to rest on Elrond's shoulder, and he leaned back into his king's embrace. "She will not take me from you," Gil-galad promised, as though privy to his companion's thoughts. "I will not fall to the sea."  
  
Elrond shivered, beset by a vision of hot wind and raging fire. "I know," he whispered.   
  
"I know."


	2. Final Word - Minuial Nuwing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles on the theme of Elrond and Gil-galad

_~Lindon 1200 II~  
  
_ "He _is_ very fair. If one is so inclined."  
  
Elrond paused mid-stroke in his hair brushing ritual and stared into the mirror. "You are joking."  
  
Gil-galad's reflection eyed him placidly. "I am not. You disagree?"  
  
Elrond disagreed. He disagreed with a vehemence expressed in eloquent eyebrow and colorful invective. He disagreed so emphatically that Gil-galad had to duck to avoid a painful encounter with a flying hairbrush.  
  
"No violence, please," Gil-galad chided, staying well out of reach. "I share your distrust and have denied him entry to the city." He snorted inelegantly. "What sort of charlatan names himself Annatar, anyway?"  



	3. To Establish Ties - by Imhiriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles on the theme of Elrond and Gil-galad

After a last nervous glance at the closing door Elrond turned to face me.

'Skittish as a fawn,' I thought, sprawling casually to put the young Peredhel at ease. Something nobody but Círdan had yet been able to accomplish since the twins' arrival from the Fëanorians' camp some weeks ago.

Elrond gingerly sat where I indicated, wide-open eyes never leaving mine.

"I felt like you do - drifting among strangers, bereft of home... But you have one thing I did not: your brother is with you. You are not alone."

His expression softened.

I smiled in response. "Please call me Ereinion..."

~*~

A/N:

\- The title is from the first conversation between the fox and the little prince about taming in Chapter 21 of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's "The Little Prince".

~*~

Imhiriel


	4. Separation is Always Hard by Greywing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles on the theme of Elrond and Gil-galad

Gil-galad always reacted badly to being parted from his dearest friend and confidant for any considerable length of time, reflected Círdan.

The first time-when Elrond left for Edhellond on some sort of official business-- the High King promptly proceeded to invent and master an instrument made of wine glasses.

Subsequent separations resulted in cockerels whose tails trailed the ground, horticultural aberrations, and a breed of ridiculously small dog. 

Then of course, there had been that horrible business in Eregion and the long, long siege.  Círdan shuddered at the memory. Gil-galad nearly went _insane_ , started training _rats_ (of all things) to do strange tricks, and when the Númenoreans arrived to relieve the situation, had taken to mowing down the enemy with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. 

Círdan wondered, as he watched Elrond's ship melt into the horizon, what kind of havoc Gil-galad must be wrecking across the Sea. 


	5. The Beginning by Oshun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles on the theme of Elrond and Gil-galad

Elrond had been quiet that entire week. While working I often found myself stopping suddenly to look up from my papers to discover his eyes upon me. Not knowing what had caused me to break off, I would ask him if he had spoken. Each time he answered that he had not. I noticed over the past few months that he seemed to be recovering from the loss of his brother, that his confidence had increased. But then he had begun to appear distracted and anxious again.  
  
I chose to keep him close to me. It had been easy to convince myself of his competence, indeed his giftedness, and that we worked well together: he completes my sentences, laughs at my jokes, is respectful without being sycophantic. His training in arms is excellent, his knowledge of language and lore incomparable in one so young, and I have never seen a fairer hand, each tengwa perfect and even. I have been told by those who knew Maglor and Maedhros that he could not have had better teachers. If truth be told, more importantly to me, Elrond had never been afraid to challenge my preconceptions or to ask difficult questions. I needed an heir and he was my closest kinsman. I enjoyed him as a companion and a collaborator but did not want to be the nursemaid of a lonely boy, no matter how beautiful he might be.  
  
That late afternoon I watched him as I leaned against the door that I had closed behind me. He appeared at a glance more Noldo than I. His magnificent dark hair and clear, light eyes are typical of the heirs of Finwë who preceded me as High King of the Noldor. The last rays of the sun shone on him through the open window, causing his hair to gleam darkly against pale skin, while one side of his face glowed golden in the last red-orange light of the sinking sun.  
  
I thought to light his lamp as it was rapidly growing too dark to write without straining one’s eyes, but I dared not move and distract him. For once he seemed unaware of me and I could study him unobserved. He is noticeably taller than I am, although not as broadly built, and is ruddier of complexion. His human roots are undeniable; his eyes lack detachment and his visage is ever mobile and expressive. I imagine an incandescence in him that reflects his Maiarin heritage, but I would not argue if one were to tell me that in my infatuation I am being gratuitously fanciful.  
  
Yet no one could dispute that the fresh bloom of youth about him would move a stone and I unfortunately have inherited the unruly passions of my line. As breathtaking as his youth might be, it argued against, rather than for, such an entanglement on my part. Still, I could not but yearn that I might detect in him an attraction to me that matched my own.  
  
“Ereinion.” His voice startled me out of my concentration as his wide grey eyes, artless and trusting if slightly embarrassed, met my own.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I’m an idiot,” he said. He placed his pen down alongside the parchment upon which he labored. A hot flush darkened his face, reaching the elegant apex of his cheekbones.  
  
“Indeed,” I said, without the slightest success at my attempt to sound severe, and completely unable to rein in the smile that pulled against the corners of my mouth. “Are you questioning my judgment or do you perhaps plan to disclose secret details about yourself that I have not yet discovered?”  
  
He pushed the chair back with a clatter and rounded the table in an instant, not stopping until he stood in front of me, close enough that I could feel his heat. He held my eyes with his. “I hate it when you laugh at me in that mocking tone,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yes. There is something I should tell you.”  
  
His shoulders squared, he gripped my arm. I felt his pulse through his over-warm fingertips, as fast as my own and ragged, and I understood.  
  
“How old are you now, Elrond? I’ve forgotten,” I lied.  
  
“I am of age by anyone’s assessment, man or elf,” he said, jutting his chin out, while he jerked his head upward. His eyes narrowed with the slightest flare of his nostrils and his lips pressed together, the lower one protruding provocatively.  
  
“So, what are you waiting for?” I said.  
  
I expected his kiss to be gentler, but I did not then know Elrond as well as I do now.


End file.
